


Hit Me Like Lightning

by Persephatta



Category: Monster Prom - Fandom
Genre: BAMF Vicky, Don't Try This At Home, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Minor Violence, Romantic Comedy, Soft Damien LaVey, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephatta/pseuds/Persephatta
Summary: Vicky’s night was going bad even before she found herself in a high-speed car chase from the police, hurtling towards a cliff, on the lap of Damien LaVey.---Or, in which Vicky commits one or two felonies and Damien might be, definitely, falling in love.
Relationships: Blue | Vicky/Damien LaVey
Comments: 27
Kudos: 152





	Hit Me Like Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> I am a sucker for a Good Girl / Bad Boy pairing and Red + Blue ships equally and these two encompass both those things perfectly. I have read most of the Vicky / Damien fics I could get my hands on but I felt there wasn't enough that showed how badass Vicky could be and how perfect she is for Damien. So, here's my take. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Monster Prom, this is purely a piece of fanfiction.

Vicky’s night was going bad even before she found herself in a high-speed car chase from the police, hurtling towards a cliff, on the lap of Damien LaVey.

She had been so excited for the party; dressing up in her favourite polka-dot sundress and new glittery trainers. She was determined to finally make a splash on the social scene and have a fun night with her friends.

Her plans started to fall apart early on. Oz had cancelled on them, having come down with something and in no condition to leave his bed. Vicky had tried to shrug it off; the remaining trio could still have a good time without him. And they had – for the 30 seconds they were together before Brian wandered off to find food and never returned. She managed one dance with Amira before the Djinn was pulled away by Polly and then Vicky was alone.

Shaking off her distress Vicky resolved to find herself new company and ventured further into the house. She didn’t even know whose house it was or the party’s host but she guessed it didn’t matter, the whole school was there. She trudged from room to room, shoving through the crowds, searching for someone she knew and could talk to. She walked in on a few couples and one orgy but declined all invitations to join. She tried hovering around groups of people but they paid her no notice.

On her way downstairs she passed Vera Oberon who sneered at her and asked if she had gotten lost on her way to the kiddy’s party. Vicky flushed and hurried away. Perhaps she would be better off just heading home but Brian had driven them there and she had no idea where he was. She was trying not to freak out when the Wolf Pack came crashing through the house. Vicky didn’t have time to move out of their way and was caught in the stampede, hard bodies slamming into her; a pair of arms scooped her up and she was tossed over a hairy shoulder. She struggled to escape their clutches, slamming her feet and fists against her captor but she wasn’t sure they even noticed. Everything was so loud; the music, the Wolf Pack’s howling, she couldn’t process any of it. But then the noise shifted and she noticed they were outside.

“DUNK THE NERDS! DUNK THE NERDS!”

Vicky barely processed the words when she was hurled into the air. She screamed, the world falling away from her… no, wait… she was the one falling. Air turned to water and she flailed madly, sending herself careening to the surface. She gasped, spluttering for breath as she floundered; a few more monsters popped up around her and she realised they were in a pool. The crowd surrounding the pool hooted with laughter, sniggering at the victims of the Wolf Pack’s latest prank, herself included. She had wanted to make a splash but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

Mortification gripped Vicky and she considered ducking back underwater where she could drown, but instead decided to wait it out until the crowd grew bored and sought entertainment elsewhere. It didn’t take long but Vicky was soaked through when she finally clambered out of the pool with the other unlucky nerds; her wrinkled sundress clung to her skin and her socks squelched in her shoes. Her phone, she discovered, was fried. Trying hard not to cry, she shoved the now useless device back into her sodden purse and marched away from the house, party still raging inside. She was going home, with or without Brian.

She only made it a few paces when someone grabbed her arm and she struck something solid. Looking up, she didn’t recognise the monster standing over her; they were vaguely humanoid, with three eyes and five arms pressing her to them and wandering places she definitely didn’t want them to go.

“Hey cutie,” they slurred, plonking their great big slobbering mouth over hers (oh, and it seemed they had two tongues…).

Vicky yelped, struggling, but they had her pinned. Panicking, she reached for the bolt of life that always crackled inside her and sometimes discharged itself in random spurts of electricity. She had barely summoned a fizzle when her attacker jerked away. Relief flooded her, thoughts turning to escape, but before she could act the monster shook and lurched forward.

Vicky shrieked as vomit spewed across her new glittery trainers and flung herself out of their range. However, the damage was already done; she stared mournfully at her ruined shoes, grimacing at the foul stench. Another retching sound propelled her into a run and she hurried from the scene, tears prickling at eyes. 

So much for a fun night with friends. It looked like she was walking home (in wet clothes and sodden shoes). She was so focused on her own misery that she didn’t notice trouble approaching until she hit it head-on, knocking into something hard and tumbling to the ground. Vicky let out a small whine as she collided with the dirt, wondering if perhaps she was better off simply staying there.

“OI! WHAT THE FUCK!”

Vicky reeled back. She knew that foulmouthed roar. Looking up she saw a fuming Damien LaVey scowling down at her. Oh no.

“YOU FUCKDOOR! WHY DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ WHAT WHERE YOU’RE GOING, NERD!”

Vicky blinked and got mad.

“WHY DON’T YOU WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, ASSHOLE!”

She leapt to her feet, fixing him with a glare. Damien stared, dumbstruck.

“The fuck you just say to me?” Damien said, voice soft and terrifying.

It dawned on Vicky what she had just said, to whom she had just said it, and how absolutely screwed she was. Oh shit.

Vicky stumbled backwards. She was about to drop to her knees and beg for mercy when a series of sirens pierced the night and a squad of police cars pulled up at the house. Officers jumped out of their vehicles and swarmed the building, arresting various monsters who were trying to flee.

“Shit! RUN!” Damien yelled, taking off in the opposite direction.

Vicky didn’t think twice. Together they raced to one of the cars parked on the outskirts of the grounds. Damien smashed his fist through the window nearest the driver’s seat and unlocked the doors. Vicky didn’t stop to debates the ethics of what they were doing or why she was sticking with Damien when a moment ago she had been afraid he was going to kill her. None of that mattered right now, the priority was escape. She scrambled into the passenger seat as Damien climbed into the front.

“FUCK!” 

Vicky startled, turning to the demon. “What?”

“There’re no keys!” Damien wailed, slamming his fist against the wheel.

“So? Just hotwire it.”

Damien looked at her blankly. Vicky stared back at him, the claws of panic digging into her stomach.

“You know how to hotwire, right? I mean you’ve stolen cars before, right?”

“Yeah, but normally I just beat the suckers up until they hand over their keys. It technically isn’t stealing if they just give it to you.”

Vicky threw her hands up, unable to believe her luck. “GAAAHHH! The one time I actually need you to commit a crime! That’s it! We’re swapping.”

She didn’t give him a chance to react, clambering over him and into the driver’s seat. She leant down and dislodged the panel under the steering wheel where the control wires were kept.

“Uhhh…”

Vicky hardly heard Damien over her heart pounding in her ears, focusing on her task as she fiddled with the car’s internal mechanisms. She didn’t consider herself much of a car thief (or any kind of thief) but she had always been good when it came to mechanics and engineering, and it wasn’t like it was the first time she had hotwired a vehicle under pressure either.

“Hurry!” Vicky jolted as Damien hissed in her ear, his hand clasping her waist. A spark shot through her and the wires in her hands lit up. The engine roared to life.

“Fuck yes!” Damien whooped and slammed his foot on the accelerator, lifting the brake handle. 

The car hurtled forward and Vicky lurched backwards into Damien’s chest. The demon let out another victory roar as they sped away from the scene of the crime. Vicky fumbled for something to hold onto and clenched her hands around Damien’s thighs, adrenaline pulsing through her in a terrifying thrill. She cried out, fear and excitement blending into an electrifying mix.

They hadn’t made it far when the sudden wail of sirens and the flash of red and blue appeared behind them. Looking in the rear-view mirror, Vicky saw a single police car hurrying after them.

“Shit,” Damien spat, somehow forcing the car to go faster. The chase was on.

Vicky whimpered as they careened down the road, the police in hot pursuit. Damien drove like a psychopath and she was sure she would be sick if only her stomach remained still long enough to do so.

This was it! The police were going to catch them and she would go to jail. That’s if Damien didn’t drive them off a cliff first. Oh god! They were going to die! She was going to die! Again!

“Hey, Sparky!” It took a second to realise Damien was talking to her, distracted by the thumping of her own heartbeat.

“My name’s Vicky,” she huffed, getting over hysterics enough to feel offended that someone who had been her classmate for years didn’t know her name.

“Whatever, I need you to grab my gun.”

Vicky blinked at him. “What?”

“JUST GET THE DAMN GUN!”

Vicky glanced around; looking for a gun before remembering this wasn’t their car.

“Where?”

“In my pocket.”

Vicky considered this dilemma then proceeded to awkwardly shuffle herself around in Damien’s lap.

Gold eyes flickered to her, wide in surprise. “What are you doing!”

“Looking for the gun!” Vicky retorted, successfully repositioning herself so that her legs were now wrapped around the demon’s waist and she was face-to-face with Damien. She began patting her hands over and inside his jacket, searching for a gun-like object. There was certainly a lot of knives, a few lighters and one matchbox but no firearms. 

“In my pants!” Damien barked.

“Why didn’t you say so!”

Vicky dropped her hands to his lap, brushing something solid. Damien jumped and the car jerked forward. Vicky realised her mistake.

“M-my back-pocket!” Damien’s voice had gone up several pitches and there was a slight stutter.

Blushing, she hugged his torso, fumbling hands finally landing upon the gun and drawing it with shaking hands. “Now what?”

“Now fire it at the fuzz!”

Vicky gawped. “WHAT!”

“DO IT!” Damien snarled. It was hot. And Vicky was sure she had gone insane because she was about to shoot at a police car, from inside a moving vehicle.

Contorting herself around Damien, she stretched herself out of the shattered car window, mindful of the broken glass. Damien shifted his grip on the steering wheel, so one arm was secured around her body, anchoring her inside the vehicle.

Vicky aimed the gun, hand trembling. “Ohgodohgodohgod.”

She pulled the trigger. Her arm juddered from the recoil but somehow she managed to keep her grip, knuckles white. She was pretty sure she hadn’t hit anything but her heart still leapt into her throat, hammering so hard her whole body was shaking.

“FUCK YEAH!” Damien cried, exhilarated with the violence. “KEEP SHOOTING!”

Vicky fired again and then again, bullets ripping through the night. She was sure she was screaming but it was hard to hear over the blast of the car engine and the gunshots ringing in her ears. Damien screamed too but with glee, cackling maniacally as he sped along the winding roads. The party had been in the middle of nowhere, whose house had that even been?

Vicky didn’t think she was doing a particularly good job of deterring their tail. The police car swerved a bit but otherwise didn’t appear to have taken any damage. She tried to focus, aiming for the tyres, not the people, but she wasn’t used to firing a gun, especially not under pressure.

“I’m going to hell for this,” she sobbed and fired again.

Wait. That was it!

Excitement mingled with the fear. “Damien! Open a portal to Hell! The police can’t follow us, they have no jurisdiction there, and as a prince you’ll get diplomatic immunity.”

Damien’s grin widened, teeth on full display. “Fuckin’ brilliant!”

Vicky smiled in turn when all of a sudden her arm spasmed and went limp. The gun slipped from her fingers and, instinctively, she dived after it, her only thought of how mad Damien would be if she lost it (never mind she was in a moving vehicle and, at their speed, it would be long gone). Damien yanked her back and she tumbled into the car instead of out of it, avoiding the unpleasant fate of becoming a blue smear on the road.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” He demanded as she fell into his lap. She gaped up at him, noting there were actual flames in his eyes. “Don’t throw yourself out of that car, you fuckin’ numskull!”

“I- uh- I- I dropped the gun.”

“Fuck! You dumbass!” She wondered if he might now toss her out himself but he didn’t. “It’s just a gun, no point getting yourself killed. I’ve got plenty of ‘em.”

Vicky stared, was Damien “look at me and I’ll stab you, fuck it, I’ll stab you anyway” LaVey actually being _nice_?

“Hold on!” He shouted before she could think on it further.

Her mind went blank when she spotted what was ahead of them and she wrapped herself around him. She didn’t know if he had planned it or if it were chance but they were heading straight for a cliff. Now, she wasn’t a demon nor a resident of Hell ( _yet_ ) but she was fairly sure one didn’t need to be flying through the air to summon a portal to the Underworld. However, anything less would not be METAL enough for Damien.

Vicky considered praying but decided that was counterintuitive and instead tightened her grip on Damien. It was like being on a rollercoaster, a terrible and deadly rollercoaster travelling at break neck speed closer and closer to the drop until the road disappeared and there was only air beneath the wheels.

In some far recess of her mind, Vicky was aware of the police car coming to a stop behind them before they too shot over the cliff’s edge; the rest of her mind was busy screaming. She pressed her face into Damien’s chest, afraid to see the ground as it rose up to meet them. Unsurprisingly, he smelt like sulphur, smoke, and burnt cafeteria food.

Damien was chanting something in a tongue she didn’t understand (or perhaps she was screaming too loud). She felt the rumble of it through his chest, finding it oddly comforting.

Suddenly, light surrounded them; so much light that she wondered if they could have gone to Heaven by mistake. Then she opened her eyes and saw the raging inferno. Nope, definitely Hell.

They crashed down upon the rocky terrain with a juddering thud that had her teeth rattling but otherwise miraculously unharmed. They rolled to a stop not far from a stream of lava and Vicky slowly realised they had made it through the portal alive.

“Welcome to the 8th Circle of Hell.” Damien grinned lopsidedly.

Vicky blinked, stared, then burst into laughter.

_They were alive! They were alive! THEY WERE ALIVE!_

Relief bubbled through her, electricity sparking through her veins, spurring her to sing, dance, something! She laughed and laughed, surging forward and laughing some more into Damien’s mouth until his tongue darted out and distracted them both.

They rocked back and forth, mouths mashed together, hands grabbing at one another, exploring each other’s bodies. Vicky had never been kissed like this before. Vicky had never _kissed_ like this before! Reckless, relentless, full of raw fervour! Damien kissed like he fought, with fire, passion, and fury. And a lot of tongue.

It was… it was… _electrical_ … _spicy_ … _HOT!_

She felt as if she was floating and melting all at once. Her insides were sparking up a storm. She was going to fry them both; surely they would combust.

She needed more, MORE, MORE …

_HOONNKK!!!_

Vicky and Damien jolted apart as a horn blared. Shocked back to her senses, Vicky noticed her back was pressed against the car horn. She also realised she had just been making out with the school’s biggest bad boy and that was not a gun in his pocket.

Panic set in and she threw herself from the demon’s lap, scrambling into the passenger seat and fumbling for the door handle. She kept her terrified gaze fixed on Damien, which proved a bit of a blunder when she succeeded in opening the door only to topple out backwards, legs swinging up into the air, probably giving him an eyeful up her dress. For the second time that night, Vicky fell to the hard ground.

She heard Damien curse and then the rattling of his own door. She focused on the sky above her (or whatever the equivalent was in the Underworld). It was an unnatural shade of red and orange bleeding into one another, like some warped version of the dusk and the dawn merged together in an oil painting. It was oddly peaceful to behold… beautiful even…

Damien’s face appeared over her. _Speaking of beautiful…_

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?” She mumbled, then clamped a hand over her mouth, hearing what she had said. Or at least she tried to. The arm missed its target and instead flopped across her face, landing with a smack.

“Are you… ok?” Damien peered at her. It looked like he was frowning but it was hard to tell when he was upside-down.

“Hmm… yep!” She tried to lift her arm to give a thumbs up but it flailed feebly before sagging. “I’m great… brilliant… only I can’t move my right arm.” 

“Here.” Damien took her left hand and hauled her to her feet, his other arm curling around her waist for support. Once again she found herself pressed against the demon, the heat of him radiating into her and doing funny things to her insides. It was a good thing he was holding her up because like her arm, her legs seemed to have lost all feeling and she was slowly sliding back towards the ground.

“Hi,” she murmured like a moron. But a moron without anything better to say.

“Shit! You’ve been shot!”

Vicky looked and saw there was a bullet lodged in her right arm. “Oh.”

She guessed at some point the police must have started firing back but she had been too freaked out to notice. No wonder it wasn’t behaving properly.

“Why are you so calm?” Damien squinted at her with an odd expression. “I’ve been shot a dozen times and it’s shit. Metal as fuck but stings like a bitch.”

Vicky cradled her arm, thoughtfully. “It’s not that bad, really. Tingles a bit but mostly numb.”

As with most hybrids of the living and dead, pain for Vicky was a curious thing. She could still get hurt, but not necessarily the same way others did. She had lost many a limb in the past and stitched herself back together without any fuss. She had also stubbed her toe and suffered enough papercuts to know true agony. Right now getting shot didn’t seem nearly as bad as her time of the month (oh yes, that was still a thing… somehow…)

Damien was staring at her with unsettling intensity. “Should I take you to a doctor… or a seamstress?”

“I don’t know.” Vicky bit her lip. “Usually I talk to my parents but- oh hell! How am I going to explain this to them? They’re going to be so mad! I’ll be grounded for life, if they don’t kill me first!”

There was no way she could admit she had gotten shot in a car chase, running from the cops. Maybe if she told them she had jumped in front of a bullet to save a blind, orphaned puppy in a wheelchair… that might work…

“So don’t tell them.” Damien shrugged, like he didn’t see what the big deal was (he probably didn’t, this must be a regular Saturday for him).

“And what happens when they ask about the hole in my arm!”

“We fix it before you go back. Patch it up or something.”

Vicky considered the idea. Damien’s enthusiasm worried her; normally that look on his face only resulted in further pain. But then, she had already been shot evading arrest, how much worse could it get.

“How?”

“Follow me.”

He made a gestured with his hand and a ring of fire opened up, a black swirling mass inside it. Damien stepped partway through the withering void and Vicky realised it was another portal.

“Prince of Hell means I can open a gateway anywhere within our domain,” Damien explained, beckoning her forward. “Come on.”

With that he disappeared. Vicky hesitated, casting a nervous glance around the depths of Hell, then hurried through the portal…

…and wandered out into a scarlet chamber, of which the theme seemed to be flames and pointy objects. There was a whole wall dedicated to knives. Clothes were strewn across the place, tossed over the furniture and various weaponry. The floor was cluttered with an assortment of torture devices, miscellaneous engine parts, and cans of energy drink. Vicky narrowly avoided stepping into an old pizza box and nearly tripped over a mace.

“Watch your step,” Damien warned, kicking a bear trap out of the way. “Pretty sure I dropped some Lego in here.”

Vicky froze, afraid to move forward, but unable to turn back now that the portal had closed. “Where are we?”

“My room, obviously.”

This caught Vicky by surprise but she supposed it made sense. She looked around and could see the personal touches; posters of various heavy metal bands along with sexy monsters draped across fast cars, a lava lamp with actual volcanic lava, a leather couch in front of a TV that took up a whole wall along with speakers and gaming consoles, and a bed shaped like a racing car. It was all very Damien. 

“Wha- what are we doing here?” Vicky gaped; startled to find herself in a guy’s bedroom that wasn’t either Oz’s or Brian’s. Especially a very attractive guy, with a criminal record. A guy who would cause her parents to hit the roof if they found out she was alone with him. In his bedroom.

“We needed somewhere private.”

Vicky blushed harder.

“So that we can fix your arm,” he added.

_Oh._ Vicky traced her fingers across the bullet lodged in said limb. “Can you… can you get it out?”

“Sure, but you’ll probably bleed a lot. Don’t worry I’m a pro at removing blood stains and the carpet’s this colour for a reason.”

Vicky glanced down at the visible tuffs of carpet, a deep shade of crimson, then back to Damien, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. “I- I suppose you could um… cauterise the wound? Once the bullet's out…”

Damien stilled, giving her that intense stare again. He spoke slowly, “You want me to… _burn_ you?”

“Well… um… I mean… it was just an idea…” Vicky backtracked, feeling like she might have just crossed a line. “Amira’s done it for me before so…”

“No one’s _asked_ me to set them on fire before.”

“Only to seal the wound,” Vicky clarified, hurriedly, afraid she might be about to receive a fireball to the face. “No need to incinerate me or anything.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it?”

Damien nodded, relaxing his posture. “Fuck yeah, I never turn down an opportunity to play with fire.”

Vicky laughed nervously. “Um… okay, so how do you want me?” Damien looked her up and down and Vicky realised what that sounded like. “I mean- I mean where- where do you want me? No- um- no…”

“Couch.”

“Um... oh!” It took Vicky’s brain a moment to catch-up; she headed towards the couch, taking careful steps. She eyed the stains on the seat, apprehensively, and perched herself on the edge.

Damien retrieved a kit of sorts that looked like a cross between a First Aid set and a dentist’s toolbox. She didn’t ask why he possessed such a thing, keeping quiet as he withdrew some surgical pliers and sat down beside her. She had never been this close to the demon before tonight… why did he have to be so unfairly attractive? A current fizzled through her.

“Whoa!” Damien jerked his hand away from her skin as if he’d been shocked. _Oh no_ , she’d totally shocked him!

Vicky jumped back, pressing herself into the couch, mortified. “Sorry! I’m so sorry.”

“What was that?”

She ran her hands through the frizz of her hair, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m a bit… static-ity… sometimes when I get nervous… sparks fly.”

“It felt like… when we…”

She hummed in affirmation, cutting him off. _When they’d kissed_ , she knew he was going to say. It had been a very charged encounter. He would have felt the energy she was giving off even if he hadn’t known what it was. But they weren’t talking about that.

Damien bared his teeth; a grin, she realised. “That’s fuckin’ metal. But uh… try to cool it for now or this’ll be tricky.”

Vicky pursed her lips and nodded, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing instead of the delicious demon hovering close to her.

“Vicky…” She gasped as he spoke her name, eyes fluttering open. Two pools of gold gazed down at her. “I need you to tell me you’re okay with this. What I’m about to do… it’s gonna hurt.”

“It’s okay, Damien. I trust you.”

His grip on her arm tightened then relaxed. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Damien was right, removing the bullet wasn’t a pleasant experience but nonetheless fascinating to observe. Some might have found it nauseating, but she had been operated on many times before, almost always awake. To her it was like watching a medical drama, except live and she was the patient. It boosted her sense of self; learning about her body and how it functioned. Being shot had hurt and getting it out even more so, but mostly she was wondering if she could keep the bullet as a souvenir.

As soon as the bullet was removed, Damien pressed his hand over the wound, a blistering heat building against her skin. This new pain was far worse and she couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped. His focus shifted from his work to her face and she offered a weak smile, which came across as more of a grimace. The heat spiked, sharp, like a knife, and then vanished along with his hand. Still, the sensation remained, and she had to fight the urge to scratch at the melded flesh. It stank and the room spun.

“Done. Tried to minimise the damage but a scar looks badass anyway.”

Vicky managed to muster a real smile. “Thanks, Damien. I owe you one.”

The demon scoffed, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back. “Told you, if it’s fire I’m in. No thanks necessary.”

“Still… thank you…” She cut off, tilting forward as the pain in her arm flared, vision blurring.

“Whoa!” Damien caught her round the waist as she swooned, falling face first into his chest (she needed to stop doing that). His scent filled her nostrils, chasing away the nausea. She inhaled. God, he smelled so good.

“Hey Vicky… I’ve been meaning to ask...”

“Hmm…” If she nuzzled her face further into his shirt it was only because she was woozy.

“Why are you wet?”

The question startled Vicky enough that she pulled back, quickly realising what he was referring to. “Oh… the Wolf Pack were throwing all the nerds into the pool… they got me…”

She had dried out a little since her _swim_ (getting close and personal with a _literally_ steaming hot demon helped with that) but her dress and underwear were still uncomfortably damp, crinkled and clinging to her skin. She blushed and hugged her torso, glad at least she was wearing blue so it hadn’t gone see-through ( _mostly_ ).

“The Wolf Pack are fucking idiots,” Damien spat. “I swear they only have one brain between them and would probably use it like a fucking football if they could. Don’t know why Scott hangs out with them.”

“Uh, I think because they’re family.”

“Whatever, they’re a bunch of elitist pricks. You shouldn’t give a fuck what they think... because they don’t… _think_ , I mean...”

“I guess, but my dress is still ruined.” She fiddled with the hem of the skirt, glumly. It was one of her favourites too.

“Give it here and I’ll sort it,” Damien instructed, holding out a hand.

Heat flooded Vicky’s cheeks. “Ex-excuse me? Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?”

“No! I mean- shit!” Damien spluttered and Vicky could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. “I meant our staff- the palace staff… they can clean it, good as new- I wasn’t talking about…”

He trailed off. His face had gone red. Well, _redder_.

“Right, yes, of course that’s what you meant.” She stumbled, internally cursing herself. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ “I didn’t mean to imply… well no, of course… I mean that’s ridiculous… you wouldn’t want me…”

Vicky clamped her mouth shut, seeing something flash in Damien’s expression and decided she had made enough of a fool of herself. He must think she was a bigger idiot than the Wolf Pack combined.

Damien didn’t look at her as he spoke. “Yeah, well as I said, give them your dress and they’ll fix it for you.”

“Won’t they be asleep?” She didn’t know what time it was but it had to be the early hours of the morning. Then again, Hell could be a different time zone. Or time might run differently; was she going to return to her realm only to find a whole fifty years had passed in her absence? Wait, it couldn’t be that since Damien attended school regularly. But he was often late…

“No rest for the wicked.” Damien smirked, snapping her from her thoughts. “Not sure about your shoes though… might be better off incinerating those.”

Damien looked positively gleeful at the prospect of more fire. Vicky looked down at her feet, having forgotten her sodden trainers were also puke-stained. Ugh, thinking about that reminded her how unpleasantly squelchy they felt. She was tempted to take them off and burn them as Damien suggested but bare feet didn’t seem a good idea in this room.

“Fuck,” She muttered, then again louder, finally expressing some of her pent-up frustration. “Fuck!”

“That the Wolf Pack too?” Damien asked, looking amused.

“No, some creep couldn’t hold their drink and chucked it up all over my new shoes,” Vicky gripped, mourning the loss of her lovely, glittery trainers all over again. “Suppose I should be grateful they didn’t let loose when their tongue was shoved down my throat. Bleh.”

She scrubbed at her mouth, recalling the vile taste of the other monster. When she looked at Damien again she saw his face had hardened and she remembered he had also had his tongue down her throat not too long ago. She blushed and looked back down at her feet.

“I’ll lend you some clothes while your stuff’s being cleaned,” Damien informed, standing up. Vicky’s heart sank, hearing the edge in his voice; it was obvious she was bothering him.

“No, no, no, I don’t want to be a burden,” she rushed to protest. “If you could kindly open another one of those portals I’ll be home and out of your hair…”

“I can’t just open a portal anywhere. I have to know the place I’m going.”

“Okay, well if you drop me off nearby I’ll find my way back.”

“The hell I will!” Damien said sharply. “Y’know how many sickos are lurking out there, waiting to prey on sweet monsters like you? No fuckin’ way am I abandoning you like that.”

Vicky was shaken by his ferocity. Evidently his conscience outweighed his annoyance with her; she hadn’t even known he had a conscience. Maybe he was afraid if something happened to her she might end up a permanent resident of Hell and annoy him for all eternity. That seemed more likely.

Damien huffed and ran a hand through his hair and over his horns. “Look, shut up, I’m actually being nice here. Stay the night and in the morning I can give you a lift wherever you want to go. Just stay.” Vicky opened her mouth to say something but he didn’t let her. “Hey, I’m a prince here so you have to do as I command or it’s treason and we’ll chop off your head.”

“That would be a nuisance to reattach.” Vicky murmured, tracing the stitching around her throat.

Damien did a double-take then narrowed his gaze. “So it’s settled, you’re staying.”

Vicky fiddled with her hair. “If I’m really not a bother…”

Damien launched to his feet, marching across the room and rummaging through some draws. Vicky barely noticed, trying to process this new development. Was she really about to spend the night with one of the most popular monsters in school? She wished she could call Oz or Amira to freak out but her phone was dead. Besides, Amira would only tell her to get laid, which was ridiculous, Damien wasn’t interested in her. She was distracted from her fretting when a cloth smacked her in the face.

“Shit.” She heard Damien say and she removed the piece of fabric, seeing it was a plain t-shirt. “It was the first shirt I found without any bloodstains. Here, these are clean too.”

He tossed her a pair of drawstring shorts. She realised these were clothes for her to change into, except Damien was standing there.

She cleared her throat, awkwardly. “Um… is there somewhere I could… go, please?”

“Sure, bathroom’s through there.”

Vicky cautiously made her way to the room he’d indicated. She was amazed by the size of the en-suite; while she was used to sharing a cramped bathroom, where you could brush your teeth and take a dump at the same time, Damien’s bedroom appeared to back onto a spa. In the centre was a shower and hot tub combo. There was also a full vanity table in the corner, stacked with various cosmetics and hair accessories. Vicky was tempted to explore but it felt too much like trespassing. 

Wrapping her hand in loo roll, she extracted her feet from her trainers, cringing at the squelching sound the action caused. She then peeled off the rest of her outfit and pulled on the borrowed clothes. They smelled like Damien, she noted, breathing the scent in. The shirt hung loosely around her collar bone and stretched almost to her knees. She had to tie the shorts’ drawstring to stop them from slipping down. She didn’t let herself think about the fact that her bare skin was touching the same cloth as Damien’s once had; instead she busied herself using the facilities and scrubbing the smeared make-up from her face.

When she could stall no longer, she took a deep breath. Never had she been in a situation like this; she had no reference point on what to do. She tried to imagine it was like a sleepover with her friends but there was no universe where Damien LaVey was friends with a so-called loser like her; most of their interactions consisted of him shoving her out of his path in the corridor (despite her standing carefully to the side) and slamming dodgeballs into her gut (even when they were on the same team). Nothing about this night made sense and yet here she was. Maybe that portal hadn’t only led to another dimension but an entire alternate reality.

She braced herself before leaving the sanctuary of the bathroom. It appeared Damien had taken the opportunity to change out of his own clothes and was now dressed in a loose t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Vicky froze, nearly dropping the pile of laundry she was holding. She tried not to gawk but she must not have succeeded given the odd look he fixed her with.

She flushed under his scrutiny and presented the pile of clothes as a distraction. “What shall I do with these?”

“Give ‘em here. I’ll pass them to the maid.”

Reluctantly, she handed the pile over, conscious of her bra and underpants hidden amongst the folds. Damien walked out, leaving Vicky to eye the floor nervously, rubbing one bare foot against her calf. She took a few careful steps, watching out for anything she might impale herself upon. She had hardly made any progress by the time Damien returned. He stared at her, balancing upon one leg as she tried to stop herself from toppling into an open Iron Maiden.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to step on anything.”

Damien marched over, catching her just as her leg gave out. She squeaked as he scooped her over his shoulder, finding herself with a very good view of his butt.

“Hey! Put me down!” She yelped, only to be dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. She scrambled to her knees, glowering up at him. “What was that for?”

Damien frowned, brow crinkling in a very cute fashion. “You wanted to get off the floor.”

“Oh… yeah….” Vicky sank into the mattress, feeling self-conscious for some reason. “You didn’t have to toss me like a burlap sack.”

“What, you can get shot but can’t handle a little rough treatment?”

Vicky huffed. “Ugh, it’s been such a long awful night.”

“It’s not been all bad, has it? I mean I had fun.” Damien said quietly, and when Vicky looked up she saw he was scratching the back of his neck.

She looked down, twiddling the hem of his t-shirt. “No… not all bad…”

Spending time with Damien – without him actively trying to burn / kill / dismember her – had been… nice. She had even gotten to kiss him without being incinerated; admittedly there was a copious amount of alcohol and adrenaline involved and she wasn’t expecting it to happen again… still, it had been nice…

“Whose party was that anyway, I never found out?”

Damien shrugged. “No clue, the house was empty so fair game.”

“Wait, were we trespassing!” Vicky gaped, the dots connecting in her head. “No wonder the police showed up.”

She fell back onto the mattress and snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle as she recalled the crazy chain of events and it soon became a full-blown laugh. She felt a thump beside her and heard Damien joining in. His laugh was a wonderful sound.

She rolled to face him and beamed. “Holy shit, I’ve never done anything so wild before.”

“What? But you hotwired that car like a pro? You’re the whole reason we escaped.”

Vicky's cheeks warmed. “Yes, I-I’m good with that sort of thing… engines and mechanics… I like to get under the hood and see what makes them go, to take things apart and put them together, spark something new… it runs in the family… bodies and machines they’re the same really…”

“Fuckin’ badass,” Damien grinned, the slant of it doing funny things to her insides.

“Not really… honestly, I’m kind of a wimp.”

“Bullshit!” Damien exclaimed, features turning fierce as his face drew close to hers. Vicky trembled, rightly afraid… except it didn’t feel like fear. “You stole a car, shot at the police, took a bullet like it was nothing and let me melt your skin back together. Not to mention you yelled at me. You Vicky Schmidt are the biggest badass I know and I’m counting myself in that.”

Vicky gawked. “What? B-but I’m not… I’m… you’re so much cooler than me, you’re… you’re… you’re hot!”

Panic struck at her heart as she realised what she had said and her bolts started to buzz. 

Damien smiled and it was so achingly kind. “Guess we’re well-matched.”

Vicky felt as if she had turned to goo, melting into the mattress.

“Damien LaVey…” she sighed and didn’t know what else to say. Damien had paid her a compliment, multiple compliments and claimed they were well-matched. Never in her wildest fantasies did she imagine such a thing possible and yet here she was struck dumb by reality… unless she was hallucinating…

“Oh no.”

“What?” Damien looked concerned. Definitely hallucinating.

“Did I eat one of Polly’s special brownies?”

Damien laughed and then kept on laughing.

“Hey!” Vicky smacked at his chest. “This is serious, you could be a hallucination and I’m going to wake up in a pool of my own piss.”

Damien laughed harder and grabbed her hands, tugging her forward. Vicky wobbled and fell against him. Damien steadied her and once again she found herself in the demon’s lap.

“Don’t I feel real to you?”

Vicky squeaked, flailing and seizing the first thing she could to keep her balance. His horn.

“Uh, no, you’re… very solid.”

Talk about hardcore.

Lighting coursed through her veins and she let go of him. Damien smirked. “Satisfied?”

_No._ “Yes.”

She wiggled off his lap. Damien’s grip tightened before he relaxed, fingers prying themselves from her waist. She shuffled backwards and he sat up, the two stared at each other, an awkward silence settling over them

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Because if I am, I’ll go.”

Vicky was startled. “This is your room?”

“Yeah but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. I’m not that kind of monster.”

“I’m not… uncomfortable…” Vicky looked down at her hands, then at Damien’s. She couldn’t quite make herself reach for him. “…don’t go.”

Damien did what she had never seen him do before. He hesitated.

“Unless… unless you want to go, of course,” Vicky babbled, backpedalling. “Or… or… I should go… yes…”

She moved to get up but Damien caught her wrist, pulling her back. “No. Stay… we can… talk.”

Vicky settled beside him. “Talk? We’ve never spoken before tonight… not properly.”

She didn’t think him yelling at her to move as he shoved past her in the school corridor counted.

Damien winced and she wondered if he was remembering something similar. “Yeah, I know, I want to change that.”

Vicky opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “But… why?”

“Because I think you’re pretty rad… and I… want to know more about you…”

Vicky was unsure if she had any blood left that wasn’t in her face. The rest of her body felt numb.

“Oh.”

The thing was Vicky had had a crush on Damien before. Who could resist those devilish good looks paired with a lack of respect for authority and a passion so intense it could burn the school down (and _did_ , quite frequently). But she knew Damien would never look twice at a nobody like her. And yet…

He was looking at her now.

“So… um…” she fumbled for something to say. “What’s your favourite colour?”

She expected him to tease her for asking such a silly question, but instead Damien leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her lips. “Y’know when a fire burns so hot it turns blue…”

Vicky nodded, entranced by his gaze. “Mmm… like electric blue?”

“Yeah, that… and you…”

“Huh?”

“What’s your favourite colour?” His eyes gleamed, searching her own.

“Gold is… enthralling.”

Damien cupped her cheek, thumb wiping away the remains of her smudged eyeliner. “You’d look good in gold.”

Her eyelids fluttered under his touch. “What do you mean?”

“Make-up,” he clarified and froze, looking as if he had said something he shouldn’t have.

Vicky tilted her head. “Do you have any? Make-up?”

It took Damien a moment to respond. He appeared to deliberate something before answering, tensing as he did so. “Yes...”

“Can I try?”

His shoulders loosened and Vicky thought she might have unwittingly passed some invisible barrier. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

As it turned out, Damien owned a lot of make-up. Vicky marvelled at the different palettes alongside pots and brushes of various sizes. There was so much colour and glitter, she wanted to dip her fingers in every one but thought Damien might maim her if she tried. Vicky usually wore a little make-up but never a lot. She didn’t think she had ever seen Damien sporting anything other than grease and blood yet he knew so much about the different products and techniques, talking her through them with a fervour she had only seen him show towards fire. It was… cute.

He looked so soft and unsure when he held out one of the palettes and asked sweetly, “May I?”

Vicky nodded and sat still as Damien set to work; him, the artist, and her, his canvas. She glowed under his attention, staring into the depths of his eyes as they focused on her face, admiring the curve of his cheekbones and the set of his jaw, fangs peeking from where he bit his bottom lip. The brushes tickled her skin, each stroke feeling like an extension of him, caressing her gently. She felt as if she could power the room with the energy pulsing through her.

As Damien added layer after layer to her face, he in turn seemed to shed his own, opening up about his interests and asking about her own. At first, Vicky had been shy, worried she might say something that would expose her as a weirdo or bore him with her chatter but Damien spurred her on and soon she was babbling like she did around her friends.

“…and so my parents banned me from making any more modifications to the car but they can’t deny using corn for fuel saves on costs and is better for the environment. Plus, if you go to the drive-in cinema you’re already sorted for popcorn.”

“That’s fuckin’ genius. You have to meet Nancy.”

Vicky looked up at him through her eyelashes, now heavy with gold mascara. “Nancy…?”

Damien puffed out his chest with obvious pride. “My car, my baby, she runs on dinosaur corpse juice. I’ll take you for a ride.”

“Like you did tonight,” she teased.

“Yeah but in something that isn’t garbage. Come to one of my races and I’ll show you how fast I can go.”

Vicky looked back down at where their knees knocked together. “I’d like that.”

A sound came from Damien’s throat and then his fingers skimmed the corner of her lips. “Is this okay?”

Vicky opened her mouth automatically. She didn’t understand what he was asking until she noticed the tiny pot of simmering lip gloss and the wires in her brain started to fizz. She couldn’t find her voice so instead nodded her assent.

Damien shifted forward, knees straddling her own and one long finger traced her lips, spreading the gloss with a touch so gentle she could barely feel it. But she did feel it, all the way down to her toes. Her body was electrified, thrumming under his touch. Her lips were fully coated now but he didn’t pull back, eyes like melted ore following the movement of his fingers.

“Damien…” she breathed and felt a twinge of regret when it seemed to break whatever spell that had swept over him, the demon jerking his hand back. “I…”

“I could style your hair too.” Damien offered before she could figure out what it was she so badly wanted to say.

Vicky winced, thinking about the amount of static her hair suffered from. “My hair can be… difficult.”

Damien was undaunted. “I love a challenge.”

Vicky wasn’t going to refuse an opportunity to shuffle closer, turning around so her back was pressed against his chest, the heat of him prickling her skin. With her consent, Damien eased some mousse into her hair.

“Where did you learn all this?” Vicky enquired, barely containing her shivers as his fingers combed through her hair. “The make-up and the hairstyling?”

Damien hummed. Vicky felt the vibrations through his chest. “Watched a lot of tutorials and practiced on my enemies.”

“Your _enemies_?”

“Yeah, corpses make the best models. They’re so still and compliant,” Damien explained. “Downside is people start to ask questions and shutting them up leads to more questions.”

Vicky considered this. “If you need more _models_ my family has a freezer stocked full.”

Damien stilled his motions and peered down at Vicky. “Could it be… little Vicky Schmidt, a psycho killer? That’s pretty sexy, y’know.”

Vicky blushed and debated telling the truth, but she knew he would be angry if she lied. “No, just a very successful grave robber. Never know when you’re going to need spare parts.” She wiggled her wounded arm in emphasis.

His smile didn’t falter. “Still sexy.”

Vicky didn’t know what to say to that so she didn’t say anything, returning to the compact mirror Damien had lent her. She barely recognised her reflection looking back at her, she was so different. Damien had transformed her from a dorky girl with baby fat in her cheeks to the sort of independent woman who posed on magazine covers surrounded by words like _“Bold **”,** “Inspiring **”**_ and _“Empowered”_. The sort of woman who could strut in heels without fear of tripping over and losing a limb. Except… except it was also Vicky. Another version of Vicky. One who was brave, said what she meant, and went after what she wanted. And what she wanted was…

“Done,” Damien declared, hands untangling themselves from her hair. He had styled it into a funky up-do, she realised, accentuating the whole look.

Vicky turned to face him but didn’t move away. She was practically in his lap. “You made me pretty.”

She meant it as praise but Damien’s brow crinkled. “I didn’t make you anything you weren’t already. The point of a make-up artist is to bring out the fierceness in others, like on Boo Paul’s Drag Race. I haven’t changed you, I’ve just highlighted the qualities that were already there.”

Vicky smiled at her knobbly knees and avoided his gaze. “You don’t need to soothe my ego… I know I’m not much to look at… compared to Miranda, Vera, Polly and Amira I’m nothing special… but I like how I am… stiches and all…”

Her face was suddenly pressed between his hands, gold eyes boring into her own. “You are special! So fuckin’ special! This night rocked! I had more fun with you than I’ve had with anyone, ever! And you are fuckin’ amazing, Vicky. You’re smart and fierce and kick-ass! And your stiches…! Your stitches are HOT!”

Vicky swallowed a breath too quick and her insides somersaulted. She grabbed his wrists but didn’t pull his hands away yet. “Do you do this often?”

“Do what?”

Rescue girls from trouble. Take them on wild adventures. Bring them back home and cosy up to them. Intoxicate them with sweet touches. Make their heads spin and their hearts beat fast. Then kill them with kindness. Until they are hopelessly, irrevocably in love.

“Give makeovers,” Vicky said aloud.

“Not on anyone alive. I’ve never told anyone before…”

“What, why not?” _Why tell her?_

Damien slumped backwards, retracting his hands. Disappointment throbbed inside of Vicky but she kept hold of his wrists, his fingers sliding into hers.

“I am a Prince of Hell, I’m supposed to rule this place one day. I can’t be a hairdresser and make-up artist as well. How would I strike fear into the hearts of my enemies… I’d be a laughing stock.”

Damien pouted and seeing him so vulnerable ignited something in Vicky. She wanted to hold him, wanted to run her hands through his hair, to bring back that fire. Damien had brought out the fierceness in her and she could feel it crackling inside of her. She was the girl with lightning in her veins, gold and blue Lichtenberg figures streaked across her eyes. She could conquer worlds and bring armies to their knees. At the very least she could comfort the demon in front of her.

Vicky squeezed his hands, letting the sparks jump between them. “They won’t laugh if you strike knives into their hearts as well and scissors are just two knives stuck together. Paint your enemies in blood. You’re a killer stylist, Damien, and you're going to be the fiercest ruler."

Damien was looking at her like she fire.

“Can I kiss you?” He rasped. 

Lightning thundered through her heart.

Vicky nodded and kissed him before he could.

\--@?$#!--

After the first kiss there was a second then a third and over and over their lips met with soft breaths and warm grunts. The first several were fast and heated, twisting into each other and rolling across the sheets, but they eventually grew slow, gentle, but nonetheless meaningful, whispered affection passed between them.

Damien trailed his fingers down her cheek. Her make-up must have smudged but he seemed unconcerned.

“How did I not notice you?”

Vicky gave the barest shrug, unable to summon further energy. “I’m not very noticeable.”

His hand wound itself into her hair as he pulled her in for another kiss. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Vicky hummed, eyes fluttering shut. She didn’t want the moment to end but after a wild night sleep had finally sunk its claws into her and was dragging her under.

“Damien…” she mumbled, trying to force her eyelids open, his face blurring. “…don’t go…”

She felt his arms tighten around her, voice faraway. “I’m here.”

She was scared to sleep and find it was a dream. Scared he would change his mind in the morning light. But it made no difference; she fell asleep, her last thoughts of feeling safe and warm. When she woke Damien was still beside her, spooned against her back holding her close. She smiled as he snorted and a slither of drool dribbled down his chin. She was in Hell.

Vicky looked around the room and noticed a pile of clothes sitting on a nearby dresser. _Her_ clothes; washed and returned. Her gut folded in on itself at the thought of someone entering the room while Damien and her were sleeping but she supposed that was the nature of having servants. She also realised she needed to pee, badly.

Vicky struggled to extract herself from the demon’s grip, every attempt only making him cling tighter. It took all her strength but eventually she managed it, Damien letting out a whine as she collected her clothes and scrambled to the bathroom, managing not to impale herself in the process.

She looked herself over in the mirror. She was a mess. All the make-up Damien had carefully applied the night before was smeared and her hair had sprung free from its confines, standing up as if she had been electrocuted. Her mouth tasted rancid and she took a swig straight from a bottle of mouthwash. She washed her face and tried to pat her hair down before changing into her dress. She was reluctant to part with Damien's clothes but found her own were the softest they had ever been and now smelled like lilac. There was even a pair of ballet pumps for her to slip on. She supposed her trainers were a lost cause.

She left the bathroom and was struck with a sense of déjà vu as she locked eyes with Damien who appeared to be in the process of pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He started at the sight of her and toppled backwards, narrowly avoiding landing on a particularly spiky set of armour and causing a chain reaction that sent a knife hurtling towards Vicky’s head. She ducked in time and hurried to Damien’s side.

“Are you okay?”

The demon stared up at her, dazed. “You’re here.”

“I am.”

“I thought I might have dreamed you…” Damien smiled and Vicky’s heart squished.

She could feel her smile in her toes. “No, not a dream.”

“Huh.”

In an instant he had grasped her elbow, tugging her down, mouth meeting hers halfway. Vicky melted and clutched his shoulder for support as his tongue did something wicked.

Damien hummed as he drew back, fangs flashing, and licked his lips. “Yep… much better than a dream.”

Relief sent Vicky’s legs trembling and she surged forward, capturing Damien’s lips for another kiss.

And another. And another. And another. 

\--@?$#!--

After a thorough make-out and breakfast and another make-out session, Damien snuck Vicky out of Hell and drove her home in Nancy. Vicky was fascinated by the sheer power of the car, marvelling at the engine before Damien managed to drag her away, possibly a tad jealous at her attention going elsewhere.

If Vicky had thought Damien drove furiously before it was nothing compared to what he could do in a car built for racing. She laughed as they sped down the road, enjoying the rush, her arms up in the air. It was much more fun when their lives weren’t at stake.

She was pretty sure Damien took them round the block several times before he finally pulled up to the address Vicky had given him. Disappointment and dizziness hit her at they came to a stop and she fumbled with her seat belt. She looked at Damien trying to find the right words but he swallowed them all, kissing her like he drove.

She gasped for air as they broke apart. “I-I sh- I should… return your- your jacket.”

Despite this, Vicky made no move to remove the denim jacket Damien had tossed her way before their departure. 

“Keep it,” Damien replied with a casual leer. “It looks good on you.”

Vicky flushed and scrabbled for the door handle, missing it a number of times before at last succeeding in getting it open.

“Thanks,” she squeaked and shuffled out of the car with considerably more grace than her last exit. She hopped from foot to foot, stalling the goodbye. “I guess I’ll see you on Monday,”

“Yeah… hey, Vic?” Damien called out the open window. “You got a date to Prom?”

Vicky missed a step and barely stopped herself from tumbling face first into Nancy. “No.”

Damien grinned, wild eyes gleaming. “Good.”

And drove away. Vicky watched as the race car sped round the bend, engine roaring into the distance, the smell of burning rubber lingering in the air.

“What in Hell just happened?”

\--@?$#!--

Amira pounced on her the moment she walked into school on Monday.

“SHE’S ALIVE!”

Vicky yelped as the Djinn yanked her into a hug.

“Where have you been? We lost you at the party and then you weren’t answering your phone…!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. My phone was dead.”

“Shit, but you’re okay? I’m so sorry about ditching you, I didn’t mean to but then everything got crazy. I didn’t even know what happened to you or Brian.” Amira released her and stepped back. “Nice jacket by the way, is it new?”

Vicky tugged on the sleeves of Damien’s denim jacket awkwardly. “Thanks, um… are you and Brian okay?”

“Yeah, they nearly got me but… I got away,” Amira answered, a bit cagily and Vicky squinted.

“She hooked up with Vera Oberon,” Brian said. 

“Fuck you, Brian!” Amira hissed, eyes darting around to make sure no one else was listening.

“You what!” Vicky gaped.

“I thought it was Polly?” Oz inquired, joining them.

“Doesn’t matter,” Amira snapped. “Shut up!”

“It was both,” Brian clarified. Amira groaned.

Vicky eyes went wide. “ _Amira?_ ”

“Ugh, Polly and I fooled around at the party but that was just a bit of fun and then the police showed up and nearly arrested Vera and I but we got away because she’s so smart and brilliant and then we had a moment… we didn’t hook up it was just… it felt real…” embers sparkled in Amira’s eyes for a second but then she shook her head, “But it was nothing, just the heat of the moment, no need to go on about it.”

Vicky got the impression there was far more to the story than that but Amira clearly didn’t want to talk about it and she wasn’t going to pry. “Uh… so Brian you totally disappeared, what happened to you?”

The zombie shrugged. “Went for food, ended up talking with Liam about being a foodie, then took a nap. Woke up to find someone had drawn a chalk outline around me and went home. What about you?”

“Uhh… hotwired a car,” Vicky said, reluctant to admit Damien’s involvement for some reason. Perhaps afraid mentioning it would be like revealing a wish, it broke the magic. Amira’s words had gotten her scared again. What if it was just the heat of the moment and Damien would go back to ignoring her now they had returned to reality.

“I can’t believe I missed all of this,” Oz was saying. “I was stuck in bed while you guys were living _la vida loca_! It’s bananas!”

“FUCK BANANAS!” Damien snarled, appearing next to Vicky. The others flinched, Oz almost disappearing in a swathe of shadow.

“Damien,” Vicky stared at the demon, her heart racing like she had just gotten buzzed in the bathroom. She noticed him eyeing the denim jacket and she hugged it close without thinking, wondering if he was going to ask for it back.

But he didn’t. Instead he held out a pair of glittery trainers. They looked exactly like the ones she had lost but they couldn’t be…

“Are those…?”

“The original pair had to be incinerated, the stink was so bad, but I know how upset you were about losing them so…”

Vicky never should have doubted Damien. He was so kind, she didn’t deserve it.

“Oh Damien, thank you but I can’t accept…”

Damien frowned and she heard Amira whimper. “Sure you can, they’re a gift and you- and you can’t refuse a gift from royalty.”

“But you’ve already done so much for me… I’d be taking advantage of you…” She halted as Damien leaned into her space.

“Maybe I want you to take advantage of me,” he purred. “But how about this, you buy me dinner and we call it even.”

A choking sound came from the others. Vicky bit her lip.

Damien’s brow furrowed at her continued silence. “Unless… you don’t want to… I’ll back off…”

“No!” Vicky caught his forearm before he could retreat. “I mean yes! I mean… I’m grounded. I want to but I’m grounded.”

“Hmm,” Damien took a step closer, gaze simmering. “What’s the matter, Schmidt, a badass like you afraid to break some rules?”

Vicky’s eyes widened, the lightning crackled in her. “Oh you’re on LaVey.”

Damien kissed her then, wet and fiery. Vicky kissed back just as fierce, her other hand tangling in his hair. They came apart and she giggled as he pecked her nose, her cheeks, pulling back slow.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he drawled, depositing the shoes into her outstretched arms.

“Don’t we have class first?” She called as he strutted down the corridor, monsters jump out of his way. He gave a lazy salute and carried on walking in the direction of the school entrance.

Behind her Oz started spluttering. “What the heck happened at this party?”

Vicky smiled and hugged the shoes to her chest. “I think I have a date for Prom.”


End file.
